"It is so very nice, dear Grandpapa," she said, coming back to his side. So old Mr. King stood up, with quite a regal air, and Phronsie had a little blue and white paper bonnet tied under her chin by Grandpapa's own hand. And caps were flying on to all the heads, and each right hand held a tinkling little bell that had swung right merrily on a green branch-tip. And away to Amy Loughead's second march—on and on, jangling their bells, the procession went, through the long hall, till old Mr. King and Phronsie who led, turned down the broad staircase, and into the dining-room; and here the guests stood on either side of the doorway while the little Home children passed up through their midst.
And there were two long tables, one for the Home children, with a place for Phronsie at its head, and another for old Mr. King at the foot. And the other table was for the older people; both gay with Christmas holly, and sweet with flowers. And when all were seated, and a hush fell upon the big room, Phronsie lifted her hand.
We Thank Thee, oh Lord,
For this Christmas Day,
And may we love Thee
And serve Thee alway.
For Jesus Christ
The Holy Child's sake.
Amen.
It rang out clear and sweet in childish treble, floating off into the halls and big rooms.
"Now, Candace," Phronsie lifted a plate of biscuits, and a comfortable figure of a colored woman, resplendent in the gayest of turbans and a smart stuff gown, made its appearance by Phronsie's chair.
"I'm here, honey," and Candace's broad palm received the first plate to be passed, which opened the ceremony of the Christmas feast.
Oh, this Christmas feast at Dunraven! It surpassed all the other Dunraven Christmases on record; everybody said so. And at last, when no one could possibly eat more, all the merry roomful, young and old, must have a holly sprig fastened to the coat, or gown, or apron, and the procession was formed to march back to the hall; and Mr. Jack Loughead's stereopticon flashed out the most beautiful pictures, that his bright descriptions explained to the delighted children; and then games and romps, and more bonbons, and favors and flowers; and at last the sleighs and barges for Mr. King's party were drawn up in the moonlight, at the door of Dunraven, and the Christmas at the Home was only a beautiful memory.
"Miss Mary"—Mr. Livingston Bayley put out his brown driving glove—"this way," trying to lead her off from the gay group on the snow-covered veranda.
"Why, I don't understand," began Polly, in the midst of trying to make Phronsie see that it was not necessary to go back and comfort Susan with another good-by, and turning a bewildered face up at him.
"Why, I certainly supposed you accepted my offer to drive you to the station," said Mr. Bayley hurriedly, and still extending his hand. "Come, Miss Pepper."